


Into the Breach Once More

by iwtv



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Gen, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Post-apocalyptic AU, Rated T for Violence, Thomas to the rescue, based on fallout 4 video game, but certainly not necessary to enjoy, they are star-cross'd lovers don't tell me otherwise, vane has a missile launcher
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-28
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-25 05:26:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13827438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwtv/pseuds/iwtv
Summary: The title of course is based on Shakespeare's Henry V, Act III, which is appropriately about war. Anyways I used to write stuff like this all the time, and this idea has been stuck in my head ever since I first played Fallout 4 two years ago. And I think there needs to be a James and Thomas fic for every genre ever. :)





	Into the Breach Once More

The cold damp air seemed to soak to his bones as James looked at the four dead vicious hounds at his feet, his laser pistol still warm.

He was in the marshlands and every direction he turned toward was more of the same under the green-gray, radiated sky, save for the crooked shell of a house he stood in front of. This would have to do for the night.

One more night to add to the many spent away from Thomas’s arms. The thought was no less agonizing than the previous night, or the night before that, or the night before that—stretching back to—when?—Two months ago when they’d become separated.

James stepped inside the burnt and hole spattered house. Cold water sloshed around his ankles. The ground slumped up against the back wall and out of the water. He took off his power armor and unrolled his mattress there.

He also took out the old wooden pencil and half-burnt magazine he’d found and began to write:

_It’s colder the further south I go. I’m cold all the time. All I can think about is how you’d keep me warm, Thomas. God, I feel your absence like a gaping wound, impossible to heal or ignore. When I see you again, I swear nothing on this earth will ever separate us again—”_

He stopped, unable to continue. He looked skyward and blinked until the tears dried out. Then he carefully put away the pencil and magazine and tried to sleep, clutching his laser pistol beside him.

*

He walked tirelessly forward, towards the old hospital that now served as a safehouse in the wasteland.

“We’ll stop here for the night,” Vane—the acting captain in James’s absence—declared.

“But we’re only a few miles away from the hospital,” Thomas objected. “We could be there by dawn, if we pushed just a little further.”

Vane pulled him aside, away from the others.

“Look, I get it,” he said in a low voice, hawk-like eyes imploring him, “You feel desperate. Desperate to see him, desperate to rid yourself of all your doubts—”

Thomas rolled his eyes, impatient. He opened his mouth but Vane continued, “But there’s a dozen of us, and they are all exhausted. We’re no good that way, yea?”

Thomas clenched his teeth together. He wanted to say he’d go on by himself. Dangers be damned. If James was alive and able, he’d be at the safehouse, pure and simple. He _had_ to know, and soon. His heart physically ached with not knowing.

But Vane would never let him do such a seemingly foolish thing.

“All right,” he said instead.

He slept fitfully that night, dreaming of better times.

*

Thomas awoke the next morning to a firefight, like so many of his mornings nowadays.

It was a band of raiders. He reloaded his pistol and joined Vane and the others in fighting them off. The raiders were ruthless but this band was ultimately ill-equipped to stand against Vane’s trained soldiers. That, and as soon as they saw the missile launcher Vane had hauled up on his shoulders, they fled.

They lost a single member. Her name had been Victoria. Thomas had only known her since they first set out for the hospital. She was young— still-twenty-something—with purple hair and a gift for humor. He knelt beside her body and closed her eyes, feeling pangs of guilt stab through him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to her.

Vane stood behind him.

“She knew the risks,” he said quietly. “Still she came. So we’d better get moving to find James and make her death meaningful.”

They plodded on, but as they neared the perimeter of the hospital parking lot it became apparent that the band of raiders they’d encountered were part of much larger group.

They had taken over the hospital safehouse.

Thomas’s chest dropped like a stone weight. They fought off another half dozen or so before Vane gave the order to fall back.

“No!” cried Thomas. “There’s still a chance, on the other side of the building! It’s fucking huge, Charles, he could be there, waiting!”

“Damnit I said fall back!” Vane barked at him.

Thomas hesitated only for a brief few seconds. Then he turned and ran across the parking lot, jumping over dead raiders and snatching up extra weapons. Vane’s angry shout followed him but he knew Vane himself would not. Not when Vane had the lives of the rest of them to consider.

Thomas had only one life to consider. James’s.

*

It took some time to reach the other end of the massive hospital. There were raiders stationed all along its walls. He was forced to crawl on his belly at times through the bushes and alongside the rusted crispy remains of vehicles to avoid detection.

But there were other threats here aside from raiders. A fact he had nearly forgotten as he neared his destination. He heard the shouts of _‘hounds!’_ shoot from all along the hospital. He quickly rolled into a ditch as more raiders ran past him…and straight towards his destination.

The sounds of firing bullets and lasers filled the dusty air.

“No,” he whispered in dismay. If James had been over there, dear God…

Thomas glanced behind him. No more raiders approaching. He got up into a crouch and made his way as quickly as he could towards the chaos. As he neared the edge of the building he heard more than the malicious snarls and barks of the hounds. The raiders were being attacked by more people.

He stood behind two raiders who were throwing grenades into the fray and shot them down.

“James!” he dared to shout over the sounds of the battle.

The blast, when it came, knocked him off his feet.

He’d caught a glimpse of the thing flying through the air and landing smack in the middle of a burning barrel. The sound of its rapid beeping had reached his ears and then there was a deafening wall of noise for scant seconds, followed by a burst of heat.

Thomas was face down in the dirt. He slowly tested all his limbs and found them working and intact. He climbed to his feet. Some asshole had thrown a mine into the fire. The entire area was burning now, strewn with raider bodies and the bodies of more familiar-looking men—men from their patrol group.

“No,” he whispered. “James…”

Thomas’s heart sunk to his ankles.

*

He had always known he’d go out fighting.

But James had always assumed it would either be in hand to hand combat or something quick and painless, like stepping on a mine. He’d never expected it to be while his leg was pinned under a heap of metal scrap with a raider’s rifle aimed point-blank at him.

The struggle was futile. The heavy metal rod wouldn’t budge, no matter how much desperation filled his muscles to move it.

He should have been able to say good-bye. It wasn’t fucking fair. He’d never see Thomas’s face again.

As the raider walked closer to him, grinning now at his victory and taking aim, James clenched his teeth together.

“Thomas!” he yelled. Then, letting loose everything he screamed Thomas’s name at the top of his lungs. If he was going to die now then it would be with Thomas’s name on his lips.

The raider was a few feet away when a laser shot hit him in the leg from somewhere behind. He cried out but didn’t quite go down.

And then— James blinked furiously, afraid he was hallucinating—Thomas was there, discarding his now-empty pistol and hitting the raider over the back with a lead pipe. They struggled. Thomas managed to get the pipe against the other man’s throat and push. The man went down, kicking wildly but unable to dislodge Thomas from him or the pressure against his jugular. James watched as wild fury filled Thomas’s expression, teeth gritted as the pipe slowly crushed the other man’s throat. Then Thomas stood, took up the rifle, and shot him dead.

James blinked again through the smoke and the dust as Thomas rushed over to him and pulled against the metal scrap. He was at a loss for words for several long seconds.

“You—you’re here,” he finally managed.

“I am,” said Thomas. He stilled when he saw James staring at him.

“James, I’m here,” he said softly, hand cupping the side of James’s face. James’s eyes slipped closed. The touch was real.

“Come on lads, let’s get this shit off him!”

The voice of Charles Vane broke through the moment and the other captain’s face joined beside Thomas’s as they and the others worked together to free James. At last the metal scrap was thrown aside and James struggled to his feet. Thomas was there, pulling him up and letting James lean on him.

“You’re alive,” Thomas choked out. Two clear streaks ran down his cheeks amidst his dirt-stained face.

Their forehead touched and James kissed him, more grateful for those lips than he could ever express in words. He pulled Thomas to him and Thomas moaned deep in his throat. They broke off into ragged kisses and smiles, then simply held each other.

“I heard you,” Thomas said, muffled into his shirt. He pulled back and looked at his lover. “How did you know I was here?”

“I didn’t,” said James. “I thought I was going to die. What other name would I say?”

And then Thomas was embracing him again and James clung to him, making a wad of his shirt with his fists.

Someone cleared their throat.

The two of them reluctantly pulled away. Vane stood there, a lit cheroot poking out from his mouth. James looked at him and nodded. Vane returned the gesture, then stuck out his arm.

“It’s good to see your face again, captain,” he said.

James smiled and clasped his arm. “Likewise, captain. And thank you for the rescue.”

“Yes,” added Thomas. “I honestly thought you all had retreated.”

Vane scoffed. “And leave your queer asses to fight without me? Never.”

Despite his words there was only relief in Vane’s eyes. Thomas turned back to James, who had bent down to pick up a burnt magazine from the ground.

“What’s that?”

James glanced at his own writing from the night before. It had fallen out of his pocket during the skirmish. He smiled and let it drop back to the cracked cement.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Nothing you don’t already know.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title of course is based on Shakespeare's Henry V, Act III, which is appropriately about war. Anyways I used to write stuff like this all the time, and this idea has been stuck in my head ever since I first played Fallout 4 two years ago. And I think there needs to be a James and Thomas fic for every genre ever. :)


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